Marcel Therrien was having an excellent time. It turned out that it wasn't so bad being the eldest unmarried brother of a duke. He had taken genuine delight in watching the discomfort of his Very Serious Older Brother as he squirmed in the spotlight. But now that Erwin had been whisked away to see to his marital duties, it was Marcel's turn to shine. Every eligible young lady of Wulfbauer was being paraded in front of him. He was the first choice; the most eligible bachelor in attendance. Sure, barring a family tragedy, he'd never be a lord of his own land, but who didn't want to get closer to the Duke? Some men in his position, he knew, might complain, but Marcel was thoroughly enjoying the attention. With so many mothers vying for him to grace their daughters with a dance, there was no expectation he'd be able to spend more than one dance or glass of wine with any of them. What an excuse to flirt his way through the night without having to lift a finger! He was, in fact, just about to lead the very attractive – and, he'd heard rumor, not entirely ladylike – Lady Bronwyn Braedyn onto the dance floor when he felt a tug on his sleeve.
A very shifty looking servant was there, looking so awkward and uncomfortable that Marcel thought he was about to tip Marcel off that he'd sat in something unpleasant or else something else terribly embarrassing. And the look the footman gave him made it clear he wished to deliver his message away from the ears of the fair, young Lady Bronwyn. Giving ample apology and promising to find her again straight away, Marcel stepped side with the anxious servant.
"The Duke, er, m'lord, requests your presence," the man said, keenly avoiding making eye contact with Marcel while he did.
"The Duke? My presence? You must be joking. I'm quite sure my brother knows what he's – " but the earnest look of the young servant stopped Marcel from elaborating. "Now?"
"Right away, m'lord."
So it was that Marcel found himself being escorted up the stairs to his brother's bedroom on his wedding night. Maybe, he thought idly, fingering the bottle of strong wine he'd snatched on his way up here, Kristian's suspicion was right and Constance had turned out to be an evil witch, after all. Turned poor Erwin into a frog... But when the servant gingerly opened the door to allow Marcel to enter and then promptly scampered away, he found a much stranger scene before him...
There was his ever-serious, ever-stoic elder brother, the famed general, Captain Serious, the Duke of Wulbauer, stark naked sitting in the middle of a large, soapy tub. But at least he was clean! Constance, on the other hand, looked like she'd really been through the ringer. Disheveled and covered in grime with a skinned knee, she sat perched lightly in a window sill, wearing Erwin's blue-grey doublet thrown over what might have once been a white silken slip, but he was pretty sure was covered in soot? And the faces on them – you'd think the pair had come straight from a funeral!
Marcel's mouth opened and closed several times, but before he could find words the doors flew open and slammed shut again. "What the devil is all this about? demanded Kristian Therrien.
A very shifty looking servant was there, looking so awkward and uncomfortable that Marcel thought he was about to tip Marcel off that he'd sat in something unpleasant or else something else terribly embarrassing. And the look the footman gave him made it clear he wished to deliver his message away from the ears of the fair, young Lady Bronwyn. Giving ample apology and promising to find her again straight away, Marcel stepped side with the anxious servant.
"The Duke, er, m'lord, requests your presence," the man said, keenly avoiding making eye contact with Marcel while he did.
"The Duke? My presence? You must be joking. I'm quite sure my brother knows what he's – " but the earnest look of the young servant stopped Marcel from elaborating. "Now?"
"Right away, m'lord."
So it was that Marcel found himself being escorted up the stairs to his brother's bedroom on his wedding night. Maybe, he thought idly, fingering the bottle of strong wine he'd snatched on his way up here, Kristian's suspicion was right and Constance had turned out to be an evil witch, after all. Turned poor Erwin into a frog... But when the servant gingerly opened the door to allow Marcel to enter and then promptly scampered away, he found a much stranger scene before him...
There was his ever-serious, ever-stoic elder brother, the famed general, Captain Serious, the Duke of Wulbauer, stark naked sitting in the middle of a large, soapy tub. But at least he was clean! Constance, on the other hand, looked like she'd really been through the ringer. Disheveled and covered in grime with a skinned knee, she sat perched lightly in a window sill, wearing Erwin's blue-grey doublet thrown over what might have once been a white silken slip, but he was pretty sure was covered in soot? And the faces on them – you'd think the pair had come straight from a funeral!
Marcel's mouth opened and closed several times, but before he could find words the doors flew open and slammed shut again. "What the devil is all this about? demanded Kristian Therrien.